


i may be broken but i'm not done

by rilxyblxes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Gen, Multi, Slow Burn, hopefully this will be the start of a series, tags to be adjusted as the story continues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23621596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rilxyblxes/pseuds/rilxyblxes
Summary: Slight AU. Logan Mackay is fourteen-years-old when she receives her Hogwarts letter; cursed with lycanthropy she has never lived anywhere other than the small village in Scotland where she was born. When she meets the Golden Trio on the Hogwarts Express she is drawn into the orbit of a story unfolding she never imagined she could be a part of and the orbit of a girl with sharp eyes and a quick wit who makes her feel entirely undone.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Original Female Character(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! 
> 
> This is my first endeavor into fanfiction in QUITE a long while and I'm more than a little nervous to be sharing it again, but this is a pet project I've been working on for years and I figured it was high time to try and share it with people. This fic, I'm hoping, will follow Goblet of Fire in terms of major plot points and there's a high chance I might try and make a series of it if the interest is there. 
> 
> The werewolf lore in this particular work is going to be edited - as I find canon lore to be a little lacking and felt the need to change it for the purposes of my narrative. I'm not sure on other ships at this point but I am sure that the listed ship is going to be VERY slow burn if I can help it but hopefully believable nonetheless. I don't want to ramble too much and this chapter is really meant to serve as a taste test, of sorts, so I can really figure out if anyone cares enough to read this at all. I hope you guys enjoy it! The Golden Trio will absolutely show up in the next chapter.

The sharp scent of copper lingers on the wind. It coalesces and deepens and thickens all at once until it’s the tang of blood in Logan’s mouth and the feeling of it slipping down the back of her throat and threatening to choke her.

Logan Mackay has dealt with a great many things in her short life to date. She believes in the animosity of the common person more readily than she trusts anyone at all to be good. She trusts in the ache in her bones as a boot drives itself into her side; she trusts in the fleeting thought that imagines the very skeleton holding her together shattering into pieces she will have no hope of collecting. She believes in the prejudices that have led her to exactly this position - curled into a ball with the sharp taste of magic and uncast spells burning their way down her throat in time with her own blood. When she stops struggling and allows another blow to crack the cartilage in her nose the boys responsible for her beating seem to grow bored; she imagines she can smell their disinterest as easily as she can smell her own blood in the air. 

When she rolls onto her back to gaze at the dark, cloudless sky she imagines tearing the men apart. Shifting and ripping their throats out with all the grace of the predator that calls the space just beneath her skin its home. But she is just a girl. Cursed. Broken. If she was one to believe in destiny she imagines she would find little point in moving from one day to the next. How could she? Her entire life has been a deep, dark storm with patches of sunlight that dapple the clouded skies for only the briefest of moments before they are swallowed again and everything in her dulls and writhes and aches. 

Her hands tremble as she moves to brace herself and her arms give out twice before she stumbles to her feet, boots squelching in the mud as her knees wobble and she inhales deeply, depositing yet another glob of blood onto the muddy ground. 

Every step makes her bones ache and the bursts of pain that flash through her threaten to send her to her knees all over again and she wonders what could possess so many people to target one person who is forced to keep herself away from everyone she could possibly know at her age. She wishes it surprised her more than it does - that her faith in the people around her had not already been eroded so thoroughly by the behavior of a select few. Isobel always tells her to look on the bright side of things. To remember that she is loved fiercely by at least one person in her life. And she _tries_. She tries so desperately it makes her head ache from the force but it is never enough to warm the despair that sits cold and hard in her chest even on her best days.

She wipes at her nose and smears blood across her face as she approaches the house she shares with Isobel. Their front garden is as bright as it always is but it seems impossible for anything to hold brightness when she herself has such a difficult time admiring it. There is a warm light spilling from the front window to illuminate their yard and the deep blue paint that has only recently begun to fade beneath the summer sun. It provides Logan with a measure of comfort for half a second before she realizes it means that Isobel is waiting up for her and she’ll be on a tear if Logan admits that the village boys are responsible for her current state. Still, she can’t avoid her aunt’s attention and she pushes through the front door as quietly as she can - which, in her current state, allows her about as much stealth as a buffalo in a china shop. 

“Logan, darling, is that you?” Isobel asks. Her voice is warm as always but Logan can hear the flicker of concern that sends it wavering as she approaches the doorway to the front room and lingers there, head bowed. 

“Merlin’s beard, what’s happened?” 

Logan only manages to raise her eyes when she feels Isobel’s approach and her aunt’s eyes— green and deep and mirroring her own are darkening by the second and becoming cold. Stormy. It takes Logan all of a millisecond to recognize the anger intermingling with the concern in Isobel’s gaze and she isn’t sure what to do with it. It makes her want to shrink away. To curl in on herself and retreat to the safety of her bedroom and the haven it provides. 

“I’m fine, Iz,” Logan mumbles. 

“You’re not fine!”

Isobel’s voice rises shrilly and Logan flinches, a sharp, urgent movement that puts as much distance between them as the teenager can muster in as little time as possible. Her eyes linger on the flames flickering in the fireplace and she wonders what the blood on her face looks like in such a warm light. If it’s a ghastly sight. If it mars the freckles spotting her cheeks or makes her look ferocious or beastly or terrible in the ways she has always imagined herself but never seems to articulate to anyone who cares to listen. 

She nearly leaps out of her own skin when Isobel’s palm brushes the side of her face tenderly and a warmth seems to emanate from her fingertips that spreads through her entire body. It is only as her broken nose begins to mend that Logan catches the muttered incantations falling from her aunt’s lips and the series of healing spells brushing over her feel far too much like deep, resounding affection. Her aunt loves her and she knows that but some part of her screams that she hardly deserves it when she herself is a monster whether she wanted such a curse or otherwise. 

“I’m writing Hogwarts in the morning,” Isobel mutters, furious. “You can’t stay here if these _children_ can’t learn to behave.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Logan protests. Her words are firm with a confidence they so rarely exhibit and it is only Isobel’s sharp stare that makes her second-guess her own conviction. 

“I can only teach you so much, dove,” Isobel says softly. She holds Logan’s face in her hands and leans up on her toes to brush a kiss across her forehead. Warmth floods through Logan’s face and she feels the urge to shy away from the touch almost immediately. “At some point I hoped you might be able to attend school properly but you’ve always been so… withdrawn. I’ve always wanted to keep you safe here with me but it couldn’t last forever, could it? You can learn so much more at Hogwarts than I could ever teach you and you could make friends with children your own age. You’re a brilliant girl, Logan. I know they’ll see that.”

Logan nods, stunned. Her aunt has always been her fiercest champion and a swell of appreciation blooms in her chest— warm and thick and almost suffocating in its intensity. Tears roll down Logan’s cheeks in an instant and she wraps her arms around Isobel in a display of physical affection that makes Isobel stiffen for a fraction of a second from sheer surprise. When her surprise fades in the space of a breath the older witch pulls Logan tightly against her and presses another kiss to her temple. 

“I love you, dove,” Isobel says, pressing the declaration into Logan’s hair. 

“I love you too, Iz,” Logan whispers. 

Her Hogwarts letter arrives two days later and Logan reads it three times over before the words seem to burn themselves behind her eyelids. When she holds the letter in her hands something flutters in her chest, unfamiliar and bright, and for the first time she imagines she has finally discovered _hope_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan battles some ever-present anxiety and meets three people who are, by her estimation, completely going to blow up her life.

Logan stares at herself in the hall mirror for nearly ten minutes before she feels Isobel creep up beside her and her eyes flicker, just for a moment, to the other woman and back to her reflection in short order. Tousled blonde hair, a wiry frame complete with sharp elbows and knobby knees - still not quite grown into the shape her body seems to want to take. Isobel had encouraged her to wear something to the train station she felt comfortable in and Logan had spent nearly a week painstakingly selecting an outfit before she ended up in an old Weird Sisters t-shirt, jeans she’d worn holes in within a week of owning and a pair of boots she’s mended magically so many times she wonders how it is they’re not enchanted themselves by this point.

“All set, dove?” Isobel asks, soft as always. 

Logan inhales deeply and watches the movement of her chest as she does so as if to assure herself that she is in fact breathing - that she’s minutes from boarding the train to her future and that the terror that settles hot and slick in her belly is something she can fight if she tries hard enough. If she wants it enough. Beneath the nerves and the ferocious surety that she’s going to find a way to ruin her time at Hogwarts before she even arrives there is excitement so fierce it sets her fingers to trembling and it takes all of her self-control not to burst into tears of relief at the thought that she’ll finally be able to do something that proves she’s at least marginally  _ normal _ . Or, she muses, as normal as any young witch is wont to be. 

“I think so,” Logan replies, reaching for her wand where it’s been tucked into her front pocket all morning. Isobel had mentioned something in passing about sorting out a better spot to keep it but Logan hasn’t found a compelling enough reason to go through with that. She assumes any muggles they come into contact with will think she has some sort of writing implement or something of the like and she’ll be able to keep her wand in touching distance. It’s one of the few things she owns that she imagines she can feel her parents at her side when she has it— getting her wand being one of the last things they were able to experience together before they passed. Her heart throbs sharply in her chest at the thought of them and she has flashes of her mother’s smile and her father’s warm laugh and boisterous affection for her. 

Her throat tightens and when she sniffles hard she feels Isobel reach for her more than she registers the movement. She reaches up to press her hand against Isobel’s where her aunt’s fingers are draped over her shoulder and draws as much comfort from the gesture as she feels capable of before her eyes meet her reflection’s and she finds her jaw set with a fierce determination that makes her look far more composed than she feels. 

“We should go before I lose my nerve,” Logan says at last, looking over her shoulder to meet Isobel’s eyes. 

The corners of her aunt’s eyes wrinkle deeply as she smiles and Logan tries to memorize the expression for the days she knows will be difficult— in the years she’s lived with Isobel they’ve never spent more than a night or two apart and even those nights were absences born of necessity rather than choice. To know she’s going somewhere her aunt cannot follow is almost enough to send Logan into a tailspin of anxiety and she pushes out the front door with her trunk levitating behind her to distract herself from the feeling altogether. Isobel’s putting on a brave face for the occasion but Logan imagines her aunt feels as strangely as she does about letting her go off somewhere on her own. But perhaps that’s the way of the world when someone loves you, Logan thinks. Perhaps it’s simply a sign that their love is fierce and permanent and it’s a comforting thought in its own right. The Portkey is scheduled to take them to King’s Cross in ten minutes time and it takes them all of three to find the worn boot in the middle of the field that borders their home. Logan stares at the deep blue paint she’s run her fingers over countless times and the shingled roof with a patch of dark wood near one corner where she’d blown a hole in the shingles during a misguided attempt at spell practice. 

She’s going to miss it. She’s forgotten what her childhood home looked like ( it burned along with her parents and their photos have left it behind ) but Isobel’s home in the country has more than made up for it - it’s the only place she feels utterly comfortable and the desire to march back and stay there for the rest of her life is so sudden and so intense that she forces her gaze down towards the portkey and stares at the unraveling shoelaces on the boot until they begin to unravel further under her gaze and she looks away again. Her magic is flickering so close to the surface she can taste it on her tongue, all ozone and sharpness and the thrill of possibility zinging through her in a way that all but makes her teeth rattle. She doesn’t fancy herself the most powerful witch in the world but her magic has always come easily to her and she has at least a measure of ability though none of the control her traditionally schooled counterparts in the village have always lorded over her. 

Isobel checks her watch and smiles again, tapping Logan’s shoulder and reaching for the Portkey with as much nonchalance as she can muster. Logan’s grip on the handle of her trunk is so tight she watches her knuckles turn white from the force and when the final seconds before their scheduled departure tick away to nothing she feels a sharp tug behind her navel that makes her feel decidedly sick before the ground tumbles away beneath her feet and she’s floating in a whirlwind of disorienting magic. 

She’s saved from falling flat on her face upon arrival to the alley just outside of King’s Cross by Isobel’s sure hand holding her steady and the breathless laugh that escapes Isobel as they settle is enough to draw a genuine smile from Logan. 

“Excited?” Isobel quirks an eyebrow in her direction as they begin the walk to the platform. 

“I think so? I think I might be sick, actually, but if that’s excitement then I suppose I’ve got loads of it,” Logan replies, dry and sharp in a way that earns her another one of her aunt’s bright laughs. 

Silence spreads over them as they continue on and it’s something Logan has no trouble leaning into; before her curse had made itself known she’d been a far brighter person— quick to laugh or smile and quicker to make an effort to earn those same expressions from the people around her. She’d held herself high and proud with a rambunctious eagerness for life that childhood had instilled in her as easily as anything in the world. She can’t quite remember what it feels like to carry genuine excitement for most things in her but she knows the ability is buried in her somewhere, a treasure that will require a measure of patience and care to excavate properly and she hopes in a nebulous sort of way that something will make her want to find that part of herself again. That something will soothe the anxiety that clouds her every thought and warmth might take its place as easily as the clouds have settled in.

She collides roughly with Isobel’s back when her aunt finally pauses to retrieve a trolley for her trunk as Logan rubs at her nose and grumbles and remembers that it’s not actually hurting all that terribly, simply smarting in a way that’s far more tame than her broken nose had felt those months ago. 

“Bloody hell,” Logan mumbles, giving her nose a final touch as Isobel watches her with a sort of fond exasperation. 

“You’re in the clouds again, dove,” Isobel informs her, tapping Logan’s temple with gentle fingers, “It’s alright to be here, you know.”

“I know,” Logan replies, her head bobbing in a nod. “I’m trying, Iz.”

“I know, darling. I know it’s difficult, but you’re going to do brilliantly, I promise you.” 

Isobel’s firm confidence is enough to buoy Logan’s own certainty that attending Hogwarts, though later than most children her age, is the right decision for her to make. She can’t live the rest of her life as a hermit and she’s entitled to an education just as much as any other person in the world. It makes her feel marginally less anxious for at least a moment and that moment is enough for her to focus on Isobel as her aunt explains the method to get onto the platform properly. Logan’s dubious glance at the pillar between the platforms is enough to make Isobel snort with laughter that she stifles with a hand to her mouth the moment Logan looks at her and pouts openly. 

“It’s now or never, Mackay,” Logan murmurs under her breath. 

It almost isn’t enough to get her to move but she feels her body going through with it nonetheless and when she passes through the barrier and catches sight of the Hogwarts Express gleaming in the morning sunlight she nearly forgets how to breathe. She’s seen trains before, of course, but none of them had been the promise of a future. None of them have ever symbolized anything at all to her and this one feels like everything she’s ever needed in the form of a single machine. It’s borderline overwhelming and only Isobel’s hand at the small of her back is enough to push her forward. 

They linger beside the train and Logan watches several younger children with equally awed and nervous expressions bid goodbye to their families and feels her chest tighten in small measures before she looks back at Isobel and swallows hard. 

“I’ll miss you,” Logan says, her voice cracking and lips trembling even as she tries to be firm. 

Isobel wraps her in a hug that Logan melts into immediately, “I’ll miss you too, dove. Write to me once you get settled, alright? You won’t be gone forever. I’ll be waiting right here come summer.” 

Logan sniffles and Isobel averts her eyes and Logan’s grateful to find she pretends not to notice her wiping tears from her cheeks with shaking fingers. She can’t bring herself to use the word ‘good-bye’ but she gives Isobel another hug and feels the finality settle harshly in her stomach as she turns away and takes her first steps to board the train and wishes she’d remembered to bring a flannel to cover the claw scars across her arms that feel painfully noticeable as she slips through the dwindling crowd and onto the train. The train compartments seem to fill faster than Logan can comprehend and she realizes quickly that her chances of spending the train ride alone are slim to none when she approaches the fifth compartment she’s peered into and finds three other teenagers looking back at her with openly curious expressions. 

Her eyes flicker over them quickly, two boys and a girl, and she makes to move away again when she catches the girl’s eyes and her breath rushes from her in a startled gasp. She feels tethered to the spot and something clicks into place in the back of her head with such force that she feels her ever present anxiety die with a whimper and leave a soothing coolness in its wake. The girl’s eyes are deep and boundless with sparks of amber in their depths that catch Logan’s attention just as much as the freckles scattered across her cheeks or the frizzy curls that frame her face in a way that’s so painfully adorable Logan feels an urge to say something about it lingering on her tongue in an instant. 

She watches one of the boys’ mouths move and knows he’s speaking but hears it as though she’s underwater, garbled and unclear and she forces herself to focus on the moment rather than lingering awkwardly in the compartment doorway like a complete nutter. 

“I’m sorry? I didn’t catch that,” Logan says softly, her accent thick on her tongue. 

“Are… you… alright?” The boy repeats, slow and prolonged in a way that makes Logan smile before she knows what’s happening. His blue eyes are bright and curious as they fix themselves on her and she feels, for once, that her face isn’t warming under the attention. 

“I’m alright, sorry. I’ve um, well— never been on the train before. Didn’t realize how bloody hard it’d be to find a seat,” She admits, a sheepish slump to her shoulders as she tangles her fingers in the hem of her t-shirt and her eyes fall to the toes of her boots. 

“You can join us if you’d like,” The other boy offers. 

She looks up to meet his stare and finds bright green eyes looking back at her offset by brown skin and a mop of floppy dark hair that does little to hide the scar slanting down the center of his forehead. Harry bloody Potter. She’s meeting Harry Potter. She makes a note to mention it to Isobel when she gets around to writing to her but she swallows and nods and takes a hesitant seat at Harry’s side at the encouraging smile he offers her.

“How’s it you’ve never been on the train before?” The red headed boy asks loudly the moment the girl closes the compartment door behind Logan. 

“Ron! Don’t be rude,” The girl hisses and Logan’s gaze is drawn to her for such a long moment that she watches the girl’s cheeks color before she realizes she’s staring. 

“What?” The boy, Ron, protests with the barest hint of a whine in his voice. “It’s just a question, Hermione, don’t be so uptight.”

Hermione huffs with such clear annoyance that Logan has to force herself to bite back a smile and wave a hand in a gesture she hopes looks nonchalant and not entirely awkward. 

“It’s my first year at Hogwarts, technically speaking. I think I’m meant to be in fourth year, though? No idea which house but my aunt tells me that’s half the fun - being sorted. I think it’ll be a bit terrifying, myself, but there’s nothing for it other than to just do it.” Logan explains, pausing for the briefest moment to realize she’s managed to say more than a few sentences without stammering. A victory she wasn’t expecting to earn so quickly. “I’m Logan, by the way. Ron and Hermione, you said?” She asks tentatively although she knows she heard both of their names correctly. She smiles lightly when they confirm and her gaze flickers to Harry, “I don’t think I caught your name,” She continues, allowing him an opportunity to introduce himself she imagines he rarely gets. 

When he offers her a grateful smile she feels a swell of warmth in her chest, “I’m Harry. Good to meet you, Logan.”

She nods and smiles again, feeling her cheeks burn in the midst of it. It’s a good sign, she thinks, that she’s smiling enough to feel such a thing at all and as she studies her newfound companions she feels a spark of affection in her chest, blooming hot and bright until it spreads through her all at once when the three of them fall into easy conversation and Harry and Hermione make a careful effort to fold Logan into it without skipping a beat. 

Logan knows she’ll be writing to Isobel as soon as she arrives— that the girl who’s made her mind quiet and the boy with kind eyes and a gentle smile and the boy with a fearlessly brash sort of charm are going to change her life in ways she can’t even imagine as she sits with them and admires their warmth, soaks it in like they are the sun breaking through her clouds at last and leaving her utterly at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> I'm still very pleasantly surprised that I got any sort of response on this at all. It's a pet project of mine and I figured that if I got even one person to read and enjoy it then I'd be doing something right! I hope you guys enjoyed this entry as much as the last one. Getting used to writing canon characters is gonna be An Endeavor™ for me but I promise I'm trying my very best! Additionally, to get it out of the way now, I headcanon Harry and Hermione as being POC, though Hermione is white passing ( as that is a personal experience of mine and something I feel comfortable writing ) and Harry is not.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment or question or anything you'd like! Or don't! We respect freedom of choice in this house, ya'll. 
> 
> All best from your friendly neighborhood Riley.


	3. Chapter 3

Hogwarts is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

Ah, ah— I think Hermione’s taken that spot, don’t you? Logan ignores the thought with a bit of mental gymnastics that might be vaguely impressive if she wasn’t juggling about three thousand other feelings in the same moment, each and every one of them more overwhelming than the next. Contemplating the beauty of a castle who can’t hold her feelings in hand is far easier than considering the fact that she is already far too enamored with the bookish witch pressed to her side in the slightly-too-crowded carriage that’s ferrying the lot of them to the castle proper. 

Was there something about her more recent nature that was causing it? 

Logan nearly snorts at the thought. It’s not out of the realm of possibility to have a crush on someone; she’s fancied girls in the village with a bright, nervous eagerness that one of them had considered charming enough to result in Logan’s first proper kiss a month and a half previous but it isn’t something she discusses readily or acts on without glaring road signs to announce that the other party is even the slightest bit interested. She’s just met Hermione, besides, and it isn’t as though she can just come out with it and ask her if she’d like to snog when even the flickers of admiration she feels whenever she looks at the other witch from the corner of her eye make her blush so furiously she’s certain she’ll pass out entirely before they make it to the castle. 

“It’s beautiful,” Logan says, absently in the process of worrying a hole in the bottom of her shirt with restless fingers. 

Harry smiles and there’s a soft sort of understanding in the expression, “Isn’t it? Wait until you see the rest of it.”

“Dungeon’s a bit shit but that can’t be helped, I reckon,” Ron supplies from his seat next to Harry, raising his hands in a gesture of peace when Hermione flicks him a disgruntled look and mutters something about ‘the mouth on him’ as Logan and Harry stifle laughs behind their hands. 

It’s been ages since Logan has had the chance to interact with people her age and find genuine warmth in their responses. She’s a stranger to the three of them but it’s a blessed sort of anonymity. She isn’t a monster or a freak or worthy of abuse for things so far outside of her control she’s never had the slightest grasp on them whatsoever. To them she’s just a girl and it’s perhaps the first time since the attack that had brought her life crashing down around her ears that she feels remarkably normal. As normal as a witch can feel, at any rate. 

Her eyes flicker towards the castle again, admiring the towers and parapets and the golden light spilling from the windows. She admires the fleeting bits of the sprawling grounds she can see and the darkly beautiful skeletal creatures pulling the carriages to the castle. Her eyes are wide and bright and when she returns her attention to her new companions she finds Harry watching her with an amused smile while Hermione and Ron bicker about something she hadn’t heard but seems terribly important if the intensity of their argument is any indication. She gestures towards them as inconspicuously as she can manage and Harry snorts with laughter and offers her a shrug in response. She’s unbothered by the non-answer if only for the fact that Harry seems so unfazed by the turn of events that Logan imagines this is something she’ll be used to in two weeks’ time if they can tolerate her company.

Merlin, she hopes she has a chance to get used to this. 

She feels distinctly out of place towering among a gaggle of eleven year olds who look up at her with equally wide, expressive eyes and she feels her heart melt into a puddle in the toes of her polished Oxfords at the hope their eager expressions reflect back at her. She tries to ignore the stares from the older students as she shifts in the crowd of younger children all waiting to be sorted; she’d known two weeks ago that she would be sorted with the incoming class but there’s a mortifying scrutiny being placed upon her in the moment that she wishes she could apparate away from at the soonest possible moment but she’s no idea how to even begin such a process and she’d likely get splinched halfway to Aberfeldy and that would be it for Logan Mackay. 

A sharp exhale through her nose is all she can manage by way of calming her nerves and her far-too-remarkable hearing has begun to catch snatches of whispers from various ends of various tables and she wants to melt into the floor. 

“Bit too old for this, isn’t she? What’s wrong with her, you think?”

“Maybe she’s a special case? Charity from Dumbledore or summat.”

Her teeth clench and she wants to hex the lot of them. She’d learned a wandless hex from Isobel when she was thirteen that she’s sure her aunt is still embarrassed to have taught her but she’d been too impressed by Logan’s handle on it at the time to remind her not to use it for anything at all. At least, Logan thinks, I won’t be using it in front of every bloody professor Hogwarts has. 

“Logan Mackay!” Professor McGonagall’s voice startles her from her thoughts and she troops up to be sorted with her heart in her throat.

The sorting hat feels impossibly light on her head and she waits with her breath stalled in her lungs for something to happen before a smooth voice echoes in her head and she nearly leaps out of her skirt. 

“Ah, hello, little wolf. It’s been some time since we’ve had one of your kind in our halls,” The Sorting Hat croons, its voice warm and rumbling. Her eyes flare with panic at the fact that it's taken all of two and a half seconds for an inanimate object to discover the secret she keeps buried so far in the depths of herself she imagines she might forget it if it had not become such a part of the thread of her being. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head - there’s no one here but you and I. And we’ve work to do, don’t we? Where shall I put you, then? Quite a good head on your shoulders, I see. Loyalty to boot.” 

She thinks of Hermione and her bright eyes and Harry and his kindness and Ron and his bright, unapologetic exuberance and feels the Sorting Hat chuckle more than she registers hearing it. 

“Can’t bear to leave them already, can you? Interesting. Very interesting indeed. Far be it from me to take you from your friends, little wolf,” The Sorting Hat pauses and Logan swallows. “Gryffindor!”

Relief floods through her and her knees buckle though she’s seated. She stumbles the slightest bit when she slips down the stairs once Professor McGonagall has reclaimed the Sorting Hat and when she’s allowed to squeeze herself into a space next to Hermione and soak in her warmth at her side she feels like an entirely different person. Calm and sure and comfortable. Congratulations pour in from the other Gryffindors immediately near them and she watches the younger students being sorted with a smile so bright it feels almost alien to her. 

Hermione catches sight of the chip in one of Logan’s canine teeth as she smiles and feels something rather alien bloom and curl comfortably in her chest - something that might be affection or admiration or something far less platonic; it lingers, whatever it is, and only ebbs the slightest bit when Harry quirks an eyebrow in her direction and Hermione flushes and shoves her attention into dinner and Ron’s abhorrent table manners and tries to ignore the flutter in her stomach when Logan’s fingers brush hers in passing over the roasted potatoes.

Logan, for her part, tries not to choke on a bit of chicken in her mouth when their fingers touch and she realizes she can smell Hermione’s hair with as close as they are and it smells like lavender and cinnamon and the combination should be strange but it’s beautiful and Logan’s nearly drunk on it in an instant. 

Merlin’s soggy trousers, I’m in trouble.

“Any courses you’re looking forward to, Logan?” Hermione asks, kind and soft. 

Logan blinks, she’s forgotten about school in the tumult of her fleeting emotions, really. She’s going to have to work on that. 

“Aw, come on, ‘Mione. It’s the first night! Next you’ll be asking if she’s ready for final exams,” Ron replies with a mouthful of something already unidentifiable. 

Logan laughs and pulls Hermione’s attention away with a tap of her fingers against Hermione’s arm before she can snap at Ron, “All of them? I know quite a bit already but you can never know too much. Not as far as I reckon, anyhow. I’ve read every old course book my aunt had at home and it wasn’t ever enough. I’m…” She trails off and blushes, her shoulders rising towards her ears in a shrug. “I’m excited. I don’t care what courses I’m taking. I’ll take every single one of them if they’ll let me.” 

There’s a profound light in Hermione’s eyes when Logan looks at her again and it threatens to steal her breath away before Ron groans, “Merlin, mate, we’ve got another one. We’ll be in the library all bloody year at this rate.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Harry says placidly, “Aren’t you meant to be setting a good example for Ginny?” 

Ron gasps, as though he’s never heard anything more offensive in his life, “Oi! Ginny!”

Logan watches as a thin red haired girl with Ron’s nose and an equal amount of freckles glances towards them curiously, “Am I setting a good example for you?”

Ginny blinks and rolls her eyes, “You wouldn’t know a good example if it bit you on the arse, Ron,” She quips and Harry roars with laughter as Logan watches Ginny’s cheeks flush with pleasure in response before the younger Weasley turns away and Ron spends the next several minutes grumbling mockingly about the example he’s setting for his sister. 

By the time the tables are overflowing with desserts Logan’s sure she’s never even seen before she feels too-full and warm in a way that’s altogether more pleasant than she was expecting. She’s comfortable, at least. And being around as many people as there are crammed in the Great Hall isn’t making her want to slip into the nearest dark hallway for a reprieve and that in and of itself is as good a sign as any she’d expected to get during her first night at school. 

The seemingly endless calm that’s washed over her during the course of the feast only fades the slightest bit when the prefects round all of them up to escort them back to their respective common rooms and Logan keeps herself securely between Harry and Hermione wherever she’s able and Ron’s steady chatter at her back as they walk soothes her nerves the slightest bit. Passing through the porthole into the common room is yet another monumental experience and Logan, along with the handful of first year Gryffindors experiencing the common room for the first time, gape and marvel at the space for a long moment until they’re directed to the dormitories. 

“Off to bed, then?” Harry asks, the four of them lingering on the landing between the dorms. 

“I’ve got to write my aunt before I forget,” Logan says, “If I don’t pass out first, of course. I’m knackered.”

“Best get some rest, mate,” Ron informs her gravely, “We’ve got potions with the Slytherins in the morning and that’ll be a treat on its own. You don’t need to be doing it on three hours’ sleep.” His nose scrunches with distaste and Logan nods firmly in response. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good night, you two,” Hermione says, looking at Harry and Ron pointedly. “No trouble-making until morning, yeah?” 

Harry crosses his heart dramatically with one finger and follows Ron into the boys dormitory with a passing wave over his shoulder. Logan smiles softly at their backs before she follows Hermione quietly and rubs childishly at her eyes, her jaw cracking with a wide yawn the moment they step into the fourth year girls’ dorms. 

Her bed, as it turns out, is immediately to one side of Hermione’s. Logan forces herself not to think about her sporadic nightmares and whether she’ll have an urge to crawl into bed with her new sort-of friend and whether Hermione would even allow her to do so. It’s an all too distracting train of thought and she finds herself standing, unmoving, in front of her trunk until Hermione touches the small of her back with a furrow between her brows and Logan waves her off with a smile. 

“Sorry, sorry. I suppose I’m just a bit overwhelmed. Big day an’ all, you know?” 

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Logan’s smile is bashful, a blooming thing that comes slowly and brightens all at once. Hermione’s is quick to follow and Logan feels the slightest bit lightheaded at the sight of it. 

It takes her ten minutes to track down a bathroom without Hermione’s guidance and Logan changes as quickly as she can manage— she’s never enjoyed lingering sans clothes and she enjoys it even less now that the lack of a shirt brings the scars that curl across her arms and onto her shoulder and chest into sharp relief against her skin. The sight of them makes her feel ill for the fraction of a second she can see them and she slips her shirt on hurriedly and appreciates the fact that no one’s asked her about them yet from having seen them during the train ride to the castle. There’s no telling whether that streak of luck will keep and Logan’s inclined to think it won’t as she pads back down to her dorm room and tucks her clothes away with the utmost care. Hermione’s reading by candlelight as Logan settles into bed and what has been a distant sort of weariness roars to life in the form of an exhaustion that seems to settle into her bones and weigh them down. She curls up into bed and blinks owlishly, mentally drafting a letter to Isobel. 

When she rolls over Hermione glances up from her book and smiles, a crooked little quirk of her mouth that makes Logan’s heart sit up and beg. “Off to sleep, are you?” 

“Sleep’s not giving me much of a choice, at this point,” Logan replies, burying another yawn into her pillow, “I’ll be snoring by the time my eyes close, at this rate."

“Rest, then. Wake you for breakfast?”

Logan grins, drowsy. “That sounds grand. Ta.”

She rolls over again and draws her blankets up to her chin with a contented sigh. The sight of Hermione curled up in bed with a book is swimming behind her eyes as she relaxes and drifts closer and closer to sleep. Her breathing deepens and slows and she thinks of the way the candlelight makes Hermione’s eyes spark with gold— she wonders if her rest will be dreamless. She thinks of Hermione’s crooked smile and floats away with a grin of her own pressed into her pillowcase. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! 
> 
> I'm not entirely sure if I'm thrilled with this chapter but I wanted to post it and get it out into the world just to keep things going. It may not be the most exciting but I love writing through the psychology of things of Logan has a lot to grapple with while she gets used to being at Hogwarts and I want to explore that as much as I can. I'm working on banter and the like as best I can and trying to make everything feel really natural ( and not use too much slang so this doesn't read as painfully American as I am ). 
> 
> I'm still planning on this being slow burn but Logan is a little gay mess and her feelings aren't cooperating with that. At any rate, I hope you enjoyed it! I'm already updating this more regularly than I thought I would so I have high hopes!
> 
> All best,   
> Your friendly neighborhood Riley.


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